Those Claws
by Mellifluousness
Summary: She's not often sad. Not often angry. It's a rare occasion when she is. This is one of those occasions, and more than anything she wants something to sink her claws into. That's her fury. Fury corrupts her, and others will pay because of the fury in those claws. Oneshot.


**A/N: Greetings, Internet! Mellifluousness here, venting emotion. It's a rare occasion that I'm sad or upset. This is one of them.**

**Enough said. ._. **

Through the falling snow the bright lights of the castle were hardly dimmed, perhaps even made brighter by the lurking bulk of night. It was a grand building to be sure, boasting checkerboard-patterned obsidian and cobblestone walls three blocks thick. At its north, south, east and west ends stood sentinel a tower, thirty blocks tall and crowned by a red brick roof. The many reaching halls of the castle were carpeted in red and precious blue, windows and doorways carved ornately and set with gold and lapis; rooms were lit by glowstone and decorated with the finest materials one could acquire. The buildings were all stone brick and cobble and elegant spruce wood, set glittering in the moonlight by their fine dusting of snow. While it couldn't compare to the palace of King Wirexia, Count Naksen_99 and his Countess RaxaHax had done well.

Music spilled from the windows and darted playfully between the falling snowflakes, trilling over and under the needles of niveously-crowned spruces and halting in fright as something slunk between the trunks below.

She forced her bare feet into the snow, head bowed, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched. Where the flakes touched her scales they hissed, giving off little black wisps of smoke as both parties melted. She told herself she relished the pain. It almost worked. Her torso was bare, the only clothing on her a pair of dark leather pants held up by an iron-clasped belt. That was the only covering she needed, being a reptile; Enderborn were enderman-like Minecrafteroids, and in the area of physical image she took mostly after her mob cousins: black scales, violet eyes, clawed toes. Her purple hair was an odd mixing of genes. The main difference was her height – tall not even for a Minecrafter at a block and eight tenths – and her clawed fingers of Minecrafter length. Endermen had long, blunt fingers. She was injured by rain as little as she was by snow, she wasn't enraged by a look in the eyes, no spikes sprung from her knuckles when she clenched her fists and she certainly could not teleport. No Mobborn had the special abilities of their cousins.

Instead she knew that an ender pearl, used correctly, would teleport her as far as she could throw it without breaking. She fingered the one in her pocket. It would prove a great advantage tonight.

Odd emotions roiled inside her, all chaos and confusion. Sadness was there, thick and watery, heavy, dragging at her heart. Frustration was there, cold and icy, gritting its teeth and growling.

They mixed and came to the boil as fury, fiery and vicious, roaring and snarling and prowling, kneading the ground with iron claws. Fury dominated. Fury made her clench her fists, made her claws crave something to sink into. They thought her palms would do for now, but she fought them back. They itched. She knew what she would sink them into.

They yearned for blood and she didn't mind.

Suddenly her face collided with cobblestone and she staggered backwards, looking up. The wall towered five blocks high before her. Holding her nose, she fished the ender pearl from her pocket and tossed it into the air, causing it to soar elegantly up and over on the second try. She held it together with her mind; with a soft _zzt _she stood in the courtyard, the pearl back in her hand. It wouldn't hurt her. Blinking twice, she looked around. All was soft and still, snow-dusted and silent. The guards were inside, watching over the party that the Count was holding; he was indeed fond of parties.

Slipping the pearl back into her pocket, she turned on her heel and followed the sound of music through an open door and into a red-carpeted hall. Torches burned in ornate brackets, lighting the passageway well; the occasional door led off to mysterious rooms. She blinked again in the light before slinking down the corridor, keeping to the sparse shadows and still following the jaunty tune from whatever banquet hall. Suddenly chatter and clattering and the roaring of furnaces met her ears; she stopped, surprised, and staggered sideways as double-doors were flung open and clamour flooded the hall. The most bizarre of creatures stood in the door; it had lush green hair and smooth, shiny red skin, eyes without irises and a scowl on its face. It wore no clothes and didn't appear to need to. Sighting the girl, it looked at her. "Are you the new servant?" it demanded, voice high-pitched.

She clenched her fists. _No, _she wanted to growl. _Get out of my Netherwalking way. _But this could be useful, she forced herself to realise, an easy way to get into the banquet hall without raising suspicion. She put on her sweetest fake smile and replied, "Yes. I am."

"Good, because we're bloody well understaffed. A hundred guests! What does he think we are, redstone machines? Get in here. I'm CherryJimbo, cherry golem, before you ask. Head chef. Don't get in my way." He stood aside, holding open a door for her to enter.

_You'd do better to stay out of mine, stupid dahvaht. _Wordless, she pushed past him and into the kitchen. He darted off on whatever errand he'd begun. The kitchen was in turmoil, servants and cooks of all species darting around frenetically, furnaces blazing, a hundred scents hanging smoky in the air and mixing to form a quite noxious reek. The girl hissed through her teeth at the crowded chaos. Suddenly a dish was thrust into her hands by some kind of Creeperborn with a rainbow pelt who snapped an order to put it in this particular furnace and make sure it didn't burn. She dumped it on the nearest bench and shouldered her way through the throng, fighting back the claws that wanted so badly to tense and drive into these vulnerable backs and necks. All sorts of creatures, mainly Minecrafters, kept bellowing orders to everyone in hearing, but she ignored them. A redheaded girl in a striped hoodie directed her to the doors that opened into the banquet hall and she fought her way towards them, finally managing to slip through and close them soundlessly behind her. The hall was marvellous, with a reaching ceiling, marble floor, great long piston tables covered by silk tablecloths… its beauty was lost on the girl, though. She saw only the crowd, nobles in their finery gathered chatting and dancing in the clear space between the tables.

One hundred guests, the golem had said.

One hundred beating hearts, one hundred necks to pierce…

But she wasn't out to kill. Not to kill, only to injure. To cause pain, to draw blood, to sink her claws into something without causing lasting harm. She'd go for the arms, the legs, the cheeks and scalp, the stomach, not the heart… not the neck… not the eyes…

_Or maybe I will._

_Maybe I will._

Glowstone provided much light. There were few shadows. She was just a servant on an errand, though, quite obviously, and she walked easily past the tables, looking for her first target. That Minecrafter… hat, burgundy eyes, brown coat, blue pants… that was the king. King Wirexia was here.

There was her target, alright.

She took the pearl from her pocket and rolled it between her fingers, eyeing the King. No-one here had weapons except the guards. This was the beginning. She couldn't go back if she let this begin.

Fury roared within her and she couldn't fight her free hand's claws back this time. They sunk into her palm. She relished the pain.

She and her fury threw the pearl and it landed right behind the King.

Holding it together, she was there and the King spun around in surprise at the noise; the nobles around him followed his gaze and all stared at the endergirl there, her eyes blazing with rage. She roared a hideous ender-scream and leapt at him, raking with her free hand and leaving four long, wide scratches from his shoulder down to his waist. He staggered backwards. With a throw of the pearl she was behind him and raising a leg to kick him forwards. Four cuts appeared down his back and she was on to the next noble, a blue Slimeborn lady whose gelatinous forehead she seized and sank her claws into. The Slimeborn screamed and some Minecrafter threw a punch, wrenching the endergirl's claws from her forehead and sending the endergirl staggering sideways. The ender pearl landed on the attacker's forehead and the endergirl appeared there, pushing off the man's chest and throwing him back. An approaching Creeperborn received a rake from one eye to the other cheek and another Minecrafter was kicked in the chest; the endergirl teleported onto a table and pounced onto a duchess, perching on her bent back and wrapping her fingers around her neck. Sinking in the claws. Drawing blood and a scream. The girl was gone again, appearing in front of a guard, rolling out of reach of a swipe of his sword. Gone again. Behind a dirt golem. Giving a kick that only made him stagger, returned with a blow to the face from a grainy fist. Gone. Right into a thrown punch. Grabbing the wrist. Screeching an ender-screech. Breaking the wrist and leaving bloody marks.

Gone. Seizing a torch from the wall, swiping the carpet with it. Gone and into the stroke of a sword. Staggering. Reeling. Bleeding purple and black down one arm. Gone. Raking, slicing, clawing, scratching, biting even, ripping and tearing, covered in blood, everywhere at once, chaos and vengeance, screaming and screeching, burning and blazing, scarred and marred and bleeding. Some Netherian spirit, possessed, evil, vicious and merciless and sobbing and weeping like her wounds. Darting as much for the windows as for the people. Looking for a way out. Ripping and tearing and wounding. Blinding, going for the throat and the heart. Not killing. Trying to break free. Sobbing. Insane. Pursued, fled from. Terrified. Fury and fire. Slicing and scarring. Sliced and scarred. Here. There. Everywhere. Nowhere. Just a sound, just a shadow and pain. Fire roared. She did too, or maybe she was just an it now. A nothing. Nothing but a sound of rage and terror and sorrow and pain.

In front of a noble, she reached to claw and her wrists were grabbed. Held in an iron grip. Blue eyes ablaze at her. White hair, dark skin, pale robes. She roared at him and fought him. He held her. She screamed and still he held her. She sobbed and sagged into him and he embraced her. The guards bellowed, racing for them.

They were gone.

In the falling snow he still held her, supported her weakness and cared not about the blood her wounds wept. He cared not about the blood that stained her claws and her jaws. She wept with her wounds. Slowly, by his touch, their black-purple tears ceased. Their distraught maws closed. For once the snow melted not her scales, but the stains all over her. He murmured to her comfort and rebuking, let her know that he was angry and that still he would hold her.

"I thought I could handle it myself," she sobbed, sinking her claws into him in his embrace. They didn't pierce him. "I forgot you and your strength. I thought I could deal with it myself. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry."

"I know," replied he, softly. "I know. I forgive you, little one. You've done a terrible thing. There will be consequences, but know you are forgiven. None are dead. I will help the rest."

"Thank you." Her voice shook still. "Thank you so much."

"It's fine, little one." He hugged her tightly. "Don't flee any longer, please. Find some shelter and wait." She nodded, biting her lip. Gently he prised her off him and stepped back, looking her up and down. "You're fine, my darling." His voice was soft and gentle, as always. "I'll be right back." He smiled. "You certainly do know how to use those claws."

He was gone, and she sagged not, but clasped her hands together and bowed her head. _I know how to use them. I know how to use them, and I never, ever need to._

_Not while I remember him._


End file.
